


I love you

by Smauglicious



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Dying Mycroft, Gen, Headcanon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-12 07:23:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9062251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smauglicious/pseuds/Smauglicious
Summary: Inspired by the "I love you" scene in the trailer, this is what I personally thought of. Headcanon maybe?
Sherlock’s composure crumbled as he staggered a little on his spot, gun gripping tightly in his hand. If he could choose, he would have just killed himself. But Smith wouldn’t allow it, definitely not. Seconds seemed to stretch into an eternity as his mind whirled and rustled, a chaos in his mind palace that could never be fixed. He gripped the gun tighter, feeling the heavy weight of it. Seconds turned into minutes and the darkening loom of despair increased. He’s running out of time.





	

He had to choose. Shockingly, it had reached to this point of no return. Sherlock’s pupils were blown wide, not able to think, for once. His mind screamed at him, his heart yearning. He had a lump in his throat, he felt disgusting, worthless. A small “Why?” bubbling up his throat. “Why must I choose between the two most important people of my life?” His mind couldn’t comprehend. It was like a whirlwind, he was trembling, legs on the verge of collapsing on himself, heartbeat erratic as he forced himself to take in a small breath. He looked at the both of them. Mycroft standing tall, his eyes penetrating Sherlock, willing him to do it, because he too, knows, that a life without /John/ would be as good as killing two instead of one. And then John who was begging him with his eyes, wide and pleading, please, don’t do this for me, I don’t deserve it. You’ll destroy yourself and your cores, kill me instead.

Sherlock’s composure crumbled as he staggered a little on his spot, gun gripping tightly in his hand. If he could choose, he would have just killed himself. But Smith wouldn’t allow it, definitely not. Seconds seemed to stretch into an eternity as his mind whirled and rustled, a chaos in his mind palace that could never be fixed. He gripped the gun tighter, feeling the heavy weight of it. Seconds turned into minutes and the darkening loom of despair increased. He’s running out of time.

“I love you.” Sherlock looked up and said, to the both of them. All the blood rushing to his head, making everything dizzy as if it was a bad bad dream, his mind whispered. He looked at them both, his eyes prickling as a tear slid down his face. “I love you both.” His voice cracked, despair laced in his voice. He could just remember, the memories that flooded his brain. Of John, as his eyes lit up when Sherlock finished deducing him, how his eyes were adorned with delight, awe dripping in his voice as he said that Sherlock was brilliant. Of Mycroft, who would take him to bed a long time ago, tugging him into his bed, whispering that Sherlock was brilliant in every way that he could be.

He closed his eyes and opened them, his mind focusing on the end. Of one’s life and one’s death. And then there was a momentary pull of the trigger and shrill ringing in the air. His ears rang, his heart banging against his chest. He dropped the gun. And his hands trembled as he brought it up to his face, he was scared. Sherlock Holmes was scared and nothing could ever turn back what he had just done. He staggered and stumbled his way to the one lying down. The one that doesn’t seem to be okay. Because Sherlock chose to abandon him and let the other live.

“O-oh god.” He could see John in the corner of his eyes, face pale and clammy with sweat as he walked towards Sherlock and the body that he was holding close to. “Oh god, Sherlock I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry.” A distant voice, John, had said as he could feel John’s touch on his shoulders. Sherlock couldn’t help but flinch at the touch, recoiling from the voice, covering, shielding his brother from that voice. It was irrational, his mind chided in, it wasn’t John’s fault that Mycroft was dying, it was his. But Sherlock’s heart wept, unconsciously, a sliver of hatred flowing into his veins.

“I’m sorry John, not now.” He managed to force it out, croaking as his voice was laced with agony. “Not now, please. Leave.” He said as his body curled in onto his brother.

John’s hand recoiled immediately, as if he was burnt. John hovered for a second, not knowing what could ever be done to make it better again. He bit his lip, shaking his head. “I’ll leave.” John said with a stoic nod as he clenched and unclenched his fist. “I’m sorry Sherlock.” He turned around and left, out of Sherlock’s side.

Without John’s presence, his mind shattered into an abyss of blankness. Now, he had to deal with his demons, alone, with no one to hide to. Sherlock looked down, at his brother, in his arms. Soaked in blood, bleeding out, dying and he wailed. Sherlock Holmes wailed. And then he shouted out in despair and frustration, his fists tightly clenching onto Mycroft’s suit, his hand staining with the coppery scent of blood. He shook his head and buried them into the crook of Mycroft’s neck. “Myc.” His voice trembled, fear in it. “I can’t- I- “

Mycroft shuddered a breath, his hand forcing itself to reach out to Sherlock, lying on Sherlock’s head as he petted it softly. His eyes were glazed over with pain, his voice soft and gentle, losing the edge that he had spent years of honing to achieve, to be the ice man that everyone wanted him to be. Now, it was just Mycroft, Mycroft that loved his baby brother more than anything in the world. Blood bubbled up in his throat as he coughed unbearably, his eyelids heavy. “Sh’lock, you made the right choice.” His hand slipped as he screwed his eyebrows in pain, groaning lowly.

Sherlock caught Mycroft’s hand before it fell onto the ground, holding it tightly to his chest, desperation in his voice. “No, no you don’t understand. We need to get you some help. Please, myc.” Sherlock looked at Mycroft with wide eyes, pleading with Mycroft to not leave him alone, to order him around, to tell him what to do like the annoying brother he was.

Mycroft smiled up at Sherlock, a haziness washing over his brain, a calm that could only be achieved by the dying. “I worry for you endlessly.” Mycroft whispered as he struggled to keep his eyes open as he stared and memorized Sherlock’s features. “Do take care of yourself, brother dearest.” It was getting harder every second. “Forgive John.” He said in a dwindling whisper, one that ended in silence as he let out a shuddering breath.

And Mycroft closed his bloody eyes, for once, in Sherlock’s life. His brother did not banter back, did not react to him, did not do anything except bloody lie there. As if he was dead. Anger and frustration and denial flooded through Sherlock’s vein. How could Mycroft leave him alone? After all the times he refused to let Sherlock go, Mycroft himself went and gone off? It was border on despair as Sherlock scrambled to hold Mycroft closer to him, pulling him close, his warmth fading, he could feel as the minutes tick by. “Please, stop this joke, it’s not funny anymore Myc.” Sherlock laughed brokenly, tears flooding his eyes as he sobbed. “Please, open your eyes. Please. I can’t do this.” Sherlock begged as he cradled Mycroft and laid his head on his crook. “Please, don’t leave me…” Sherlock whispered.

It was an eternity later that Sherlock could distantly hear the sirens. And then there was Lestrade and John and the rest of them, forcing him to leave, grabbing him and separating him from his brother. And then, a blackness that he welcomed with open arms.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you guys liked it! It's the first fic that I'm posting on AO3. Reviews and critiques would be greatly appreciated. Cheers!


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